


Outside Definition

by Itsallfine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, Inspired By Tumblr, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Protective John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4416542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsallfine/pseuds/Itsallfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been called many things. Freak. Psychopath. Sociopath. But John knows him for real: Not just a great man, but a good one, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside Definition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarry_on](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarry_on/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Definición](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436669) by [lasobrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasobrina/pseuds/lasobrina)



> This was supposed to be one of my ~200 word tumblr gift fics. Oops.
> 
> Unbetaed, so please do send me an ask [on tumblr](http://librarylock.tumblr.com) if you find mistakes.

_**A freak** _

The word hit John like a slap in the face. He clenched his fist, drew in a breath to tear Anderson down, but a tiny gesture from Sherlock stopped him short.

“Text me when you find the brother-in-law,” Sherlock said, cool and calm. He spun on his heel and strode to the curb, flagging down a cab with his usual ease. John pursed his lips, then shoved a finger in Anderson’s face.

“It’s sad when he’s the more mature one here. Never speak to him like that again,” he said.

  
_**A psychopath** _

Sherlock’s eyes were tight at the corners, his lips pressed together in a firm line.

The crime scene was gruesome, made all the worse because it featured the fourth victim in a spree of killings that Sherlock had yet to solve. He’d thought, the previous night, that he had it all straight. Sent the Yard on to the scene of the next proposed killing. Except he’d been wrong. They stood over a new body that proved it.

Sherlock worked his magic as always, deducing and sniffing and examining the body, and most people were none the wiser.

“I told you he’s a psychopath,” someone murmured behind John. “This one is his fault, but look at him—excited as ever. As long as there’s blood, he’s happy.”

Sherlock paused for a moment, his faintly trembling hands freezing over the oozing wound in the man’s skull. Then he pressed on, searching for the smallest clue that would prevent another death.

John shot a glare at the officer who’d spoken and slid into her personal space, deadly calm.

“You know nothing about him,” he said.

  
_**A high-functioning sociopath** _

Sherlock’s elbow nudged against John’s as they walked, just a bit too frequently to be entirely accidental. John couldn’t help the tiny smile that twitched onto his lips. Even the great Sherlock Holmes needed human contact once in a while.

“You’re not, you know,” he said. “A sociopath.”

“A high-functioning one, John,” Sherlock said in his lecturing tone, “but a sociopath nonetheless.”

“Nope. I don’t buy it. I don’t know who told you that, but they obviously didn’t know you.” John pulled Sherlock to a stop with a hand on his arm. “You just saved a random woman’s life, and it wasn’t even for a case. By definition, your average sociopath wouldn’t do that. Not even a high functioning one.”

Sherlock shifted a hair closer, and John realized he hadn’t let go yet. He stroked a thumb over the rough fibers of Sherlock’s coat once, twice, then let go and kept walking.

“I know you for real, Sherlock Holmes,” he said.

  
_**A great man** _

John pulled Sherlock to him, careful not to jostle Sherlock’s newly-broken leg, completely oblivious to the stares of the officers around them. He wrapped one arm around Sherlock’s waist and tucked the other into his curls, inhaling the messy scent of blood and house fire and Sherlock underneath it all.

“I’m fine, John,” Sherlock murmured, barely managing to lift one arm to John’s hip. His fingers drew tiny, circles on John’s shirt, probably all he had energy for, but John held him all the tighter for it.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital, okay? They won’t let me in the ambulance.”

Sherlock snorted. “Not family, so no, they wouldn’t.”

John closed his eyes and pressed his face into Sherlock’s hair. “They have no idea.”

The paramedics bundled Sherlock into the back of the ambulance and took off a moment later, leaving John to run a hand through his hair and calm his racing heart. Lestrade clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Want a ride to the hospital?”

John nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Lestrade dug out his keys and lead him to the car, but paused when they got there.

“What he did today,” Lestrade began, then hesitated. “He really is brilliant. Brave, too. A great man.”

John smiled, still feeling Sherlock’s fingertips on his side.

“He’s more than that,” he said.

  
_**A good man** _

John knows it’s all over his face. He can’t help it, and honestly can’t bring himself to care anymore. A spectacular case, a bit of blatant flirting in front of the Yard, dinner at Angelo’s with a candle and a shared dessert. John thought the night couldn’t get better, until Sherlock caught him by the hand and dragged him into the off-license on their walk home. Their fingers tangled together for a long moment, far longer than was necessary—and in the spirit of the evening, John took full advantage, daring to swipe a thumb over the sensitive skin on the inside of Sherlock’s wrist as they walked among the racks of wine bottles.

Sherlock turned to face him, a flush coloring the sharp angles of his cheeks, and his eyes danced over John. Eyes, lips, pulse point, a thousand other tiny things.

“Are you deducing me?” John asked, his words barely a whisper into the inches of space between them.

Sherlock’s lips curled into a smile. “Deducing the best wine for our evening.”

“And what do you see?” John asked, the heat in Sherlock’s eyes making him bold. He slid closer, their noses nearly touching. “What kind of evening are we going to have?”

“Red wine,” Sherlock said, breathing the words against John’s mouth. “Something expensive.”

And then it was slow, and warm; a press, a release. Bodies aligned, just a hint of tongue. A tease. A sample. John pulled away, licking the taste of Sherlock from his lips.

“Buy your expensive red wine,” he said. “We have a toast to drink tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by averagehighfunctioningsociopath's tumblr username as part of a follower gift contest. Sorry your story took me so long, but at least it's (accidentally) much longer than promised?
> 
> [Follow me on tumblr](http://librarylock.tumblr.com) for fic updates and general Johnlock shenanigans.


End file.
